Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by JGRhodes
Summary: After an unprecedented act of violence between the Holmes brothers, John finds himself talking to the most unlikely person imaginable. They reveal the acts of love and kindness, of selfishness and betrayal, that helped shape the Holmes brothers into what they are today and unveil the deepest, most profound regret of Sherlock Holmes' life.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: In the interest of full disclosure, this story is told in alternating chapters. All the odd chapters deal with the present, the even chapters with the past. Just so there's no confusion.

* * *

_/Now./_

It was the moment when Mycroft punched Sherlock in the mouth, in front of half of New Scotland Yard, that John realized Sherlock had crossed the line. What line that was, exactly, he didn't know, but from the other side of the crime scene he'd seen them bickering, all normal as far as anyone present was concerned, then Sherlock had turned around and looked at Lestrade. His eyes narrowed, flicking up and down the DI's body, and then turned back to Mycroft.

The next moment he was on the ground spitting up blood and checking his teeth.

John made it across the street in time to see Mycroft slide into his car and disappear into the night.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" he asked, helping the Consulting Detective to his feet.

Sherlock glared at him, yanked his arm free of Johns hold, and walked away.

"Lovely," John said to the air, watching him go. "That's…that's just lovely. Really." Why did everything have to be so bloody difficult with him? Throwing his hands up, he turned and walked back to the crime scene to collect his things. As he passed through the doorway, Sargent Donovan grabbed him by the arm.

"He never told you, did he?" she asked.

"Told me what?"

She was quiet for a long time, standing and staring at him, deciding what action to take. "Look, I have to finish up here. Wait for me. We need to talk."

"About?"

"Lots of things."

* * *

Two hours later he found himself sitting at Sally's kitchen table, sipping a cup of Earl Grey and idly scratching her Yorkie behind its ears. "So are you going to explain what happened tonight?" he asked.

"I'm going to try. Ideally you should talk to Sherlock, but I won't send you into that battle without some information first," she sat down across from him at the dining table, a cup of tea in one hand, a shoe box in the other.

John was, to put it mildly, intrigued.

Setting the tea aside, she pulled the lid off the shoe box and pulled out a handful of photographs. Selecting one from the stack, she slid it across the table towards him.

He picked it up gently and looked at it. Sally stood next to a young woman, their arms thrown around each other, both grinning into the camera. Sally looked like a younger version of herself, though there were small differences. Her hair was longer, and straight, and she had this _air_ about her. A sweeter, more innocent air. The woman next to her was uncommonly pretty. Her hair was a long strawberry blond mane, pulled off to one side in a fishtail braid. Her green eyes danced with happiness and mirth that John envied. They couldn't have been more than twenty five when it was taken.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"That's Merry," Sally said softly. "We ran the town together. Thick as thieves. My mother called us Thelma and Louise. I loved her more than anyone before or since. She was…my best friend. My other half. My soul sister."

"Was?"

"She died."

"Oh. I'm sorry," he said. "But...what does this have to do with Sherlock? Or Mycroft?"

Sighing, Sally reached inside the box once more.


	2. Chapter 2

_/Then./_

* * *

"He's staring at you," Sally said, staring out at the English Channel. She was leaning against the railing, her hair tucked up under a hat to protect it from the sea spray, a little smirk pulling at her mouth.

"He is not," Merry replied, keeping her eyes focused on her book and refusing to glance behind her. "Stop being such a pill."

"Incoming missile. Heads up."

Merry turned around and came nose to, well chest really, with a tall man in an expensive suit. His red hair was slightly windblown and his eyes were a lovely mercurial blue. He was smiling at her. "Hello," he said.

"Hi." Her heart tapped a little faster and she cast a nervous glance at Sally.

"I have something to do…away…somewhere. Like the other side of the ship," she said, side-stepping the man and making her way across the deck. "Talk to you later, Mer!"

They watched her disappear around the corner. "Your friend isn't very subtle," he said.

"No…no she's not," Merry gave him a wry smile.

"Mycroft Holmes," he extended his hand. It was warm when she took it; his long fingers wrapping gently around her own.

"I'm Merry, um, Meredith."

"A pleasure, Meredith."


	3. Chapter 3

_/Now./_

Turning a photograph over in his hands John studied the people in it. Merry and Mycroft were caught mid motion spinning across a dance floor. It was a casual, informal sort of picture. Mycroft was dressed only in slacks and a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Merry's short party dress had kicked up and caught air as he spun her, showing off a bit of thigh.

"So, what, they dated?" John asked. "Your friend Merry and Mycroft?"

Sally hmmmm'd from behind her cup of tea. "He was the oldest guy she'd ever dated. And the nicest. She could come up with some real tossers, believe me, but he treated her like she hung the moon."

"So what happened?" he asked. "They broke up? She couldn't handle the whole secrecy thing?"

Sally shook her head.


	4. Chapter 4

_/Then./_

"Try this one!" Sally said, tossing a dress over the dressing room wall that stood between them.

"I don't know why I bother," Merry said as she caught the dress. It was a deep green with a scooped back and fell to just above her knees. She hung it next to the ten others she'd collected. "The damn thing's not gonna fit in five months."

"Don't let yourself go just because he asked you to marry him," Sally said as she admired her own reflection in the mirror, turning one way and then the other, loving how the pleats in her own dress swished as she did so. "You still have to find a wedding dress."

Merry chewed on her lip. "Well…we were just gonna get married in a small ceremony next month."

"What for? It's not like he can't afford a real wedding," Sally stepped out of her dress and tossed it aside.

"It's not so much a matter of cost as…a matter of _time_," Merry said, trying to sound casual.

Sally was silent for a moment as understanding dawned on her. "Oh. My. God," she said as she launched herself out of her dressing room and flung open the door to Merry's. "You great big slut! You're pregnant!"

"Shhhhhh!"

Sally wrapped her arms around Merry and squeezed her tight. "When are you due?"

"October. Oh, God. I'm a pregnant bride. This is so embarrassing," she said, passing one hand over her stomach. "They're going to hate me, aren't they? They're going to think I did it on purpose to make him marry me."

"They're gonna _love_ you."


	5. Chapter 5

_/Now./_

John sat back in his chair. "Wow," he said. "I just…I guess I never thought of Mycroft as the marrying type."

"Well, he's not anymore, is he?"

John hung his head. "How'd it go? Meeting the family, I mean."

Sally stirred her tea idly. "Depends on how you look at it, I guess. Apparently Sherlock deigned to show up that evening and ousted them at the dinner table. She threw her champagne in his face. Told him not to judge her about getting popped and she wouldn't judge him about his "extracurricular activity." They actually got on pretty well after that."

"And after the wedding?"

"Cookie cutter, for the most part. They got a place, settled down, painted the nursery yellow. Her friends at work made all the baby clothes and linen. I don't think Sherry ever wore anything bought from a store."

John raised an eyebrow. "Sherry?"

"Sherringford," she clarified.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say he was named after Sherlock."

Sally nodded as she stood from the table and refilled their tea cups. "And her dad. Alford. For a long time I thought Sherlock was going to stay on the straight and narrow. That was the deal they made, you know. He could see Sherry as long as he didn't show up high. He showed up for Christmas and both of Sherry's birthdays. I introduced him to Greg not long after. Biggest mistake ever. He held out for a long time, but I guess it wasn't enough."

"He fell off the bandwagon?"

"Yeah," she blew gently on her tea and began sifting through the remaining photographs, occasionally passing one to John.


	6. Chapter 6

_/Then./_

"You can't keep this up, Sherlock," Merry said as she let him through the front door. "It's not fair."

"I'm clean," he said. "I promise. It's been six days."

"And how long will you be clean after you leave?"

Sherlock looked at the floor, scuffing his dirty trainers against the carpet. "I just want to see him, Meredith."

She sighed. "He's having a nap. Come and have some supper."

"No," he said. "Food slows me down."

"Starvation slows you down," she pulled him by his arm down the hall until they reached the kitchen where she sat him down at the table. They didn't speak as she warmed some left over lasagna and made tea. Setting the plate down in front of him she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down across the table. "How've you been, Sherlock?"

"Fine."

"And Victor?"

"We broke up," he said, jabbing at the lasagna with his fork.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was an idiot. I'm well shut of him."

She gave him a knowing look. "Still. It's hard losing someone you care about," she said.

"I don't _care_," he spat the word out as though it had rotted in his mouth.

"Of course you do, Sherlock," she said, reaching across the table and taking his hand. "If you didn't care, you wouldn't be here."

Sherlock looked away.

"I have something for you," she said, effectively changing the subject. "Wait here."

She rose from the table and disappeared into the hall, returning moments later carrying a great, black coat in her arms. "Here," she said. "This is for you."

Sherlock stood and took the coat from her. "Wont the National Theater be missing this?"

Merry laughed. "I didn't make it for the props department, Sherlock. I made it for you," she said, helping him into it. "It might be a bit big on you now, I used your old measurements, but maybe you'll come around for dinner more than once in a blue moon now."

She straightened the collar and dusted a bit of lint off his shoulder. "There now. You won't freeze to death at least."

Without warning he reached up and took her hand in his, holding it tight. "I know Mycroft doesn't…I know you argue about it," he said. "About my coming to see Sherry. I've never thanked you for standing up for me. I think you're the only person I know who's not given up on me entirely."

"Oh, Sherlock. I'll never give up on you."


	7. Chapter 7

_/Now./_

"She worried about him constantly," Sally explained. "Used to bug Mycroft about it all the time, telling him to go check up on him and make sure he was alright. I used to think Sherlock was the only source of strife in their marriage."

"Was he?"

"Not the only, probably not even the biggest, but I hated him for putting her through that."

John stared at a photograph of the young family. Sherry was a red head, like his parents, but his eyes were a lovely mix of blue and green. He looked like one of those kids you see in the stock photo's at the store. Happy, bubbly, a little chubby. And smiling. Always smiling. "So what happened?

Sally looked up from the photographs, her eyes dark and brimming with unshed tears. "Sherlock is what happened."


	8. Chapter 8

_/Then./_

"Have you heard from Sherlock lately?" Merry asked.

Mycroft looked up from his paper and frowned. "No."

"When was the last time you talked to him?" she pressed.

Folding the paper in half and setting it aside, Mycroft steepled his fingers together and looked at his wife. "Three weeks ago."

"Mycroft…"

"I am not my brother's keeper, Merry," he said.

Merry glared at him and crossed her arms. "No. You're not. What you are is the only family he has left. You're parents are _gone_, My. Who else is going to look out for him if we don't?"

"He's a grown man."

"And I'm a grown woman," she said, stalking over to the front door and pulling her coat off its hook. "If you won't look after him, I will."

"Merry…"

"And after I find him I'm taking Sherry up to Mums for the week," she wrapped a scarf around her neck and tugged at it a bit. "Don't wait up for me."

* * *

"Excuse me," Merry said, cautiously approaching a man in the alley, the sixth she'd tried. "I'm looking for Sherlock."

"Dunno if I know anyone by that name," the man said. "Got a little summat to jog me memory?"

Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out a twenty pound note and pressed it into his hand.

"Ah, yeah. 'E was ere about three days ago."

"Was he high?" she asked.

"Inn 'e always?"

Nodding slowly, she pulled another note from her pocket and handed it to him. "If you see him, tell him Merry's worried about him."

"Will do."

She left the alley and made her way home, praying the whole way that Sherlock was alright, that he wasn't hurt, and that everything would be okay.

She didn't know it was herself she should have been praying for.


	9. Chapter 9

_/Now./_

"You know how…how he has this way of pissing people off?" Sally asked.

"I'm familiar with that facet of his personality, yeah."

"He pissed off the wrong people," she said. "And when she came around looking for him, they jumped at the chance to hurt someone he cared about. They followed her home."

"Oh, God."

"They took her. They took her and Sherry and then they put them on the phone with Mycroft and said if Sherlock didn't come up with all the money they'd lost because he'd ratted them out that they'd all be sorry. I rallied the Yard, but…we didn't even know where to start. Mycroft tried some of his connections. He didn't have a lot of clout back then, you know. Only got so much help and none of it did any good. Our only hope was Sherlock. We thought, maybe, if we could find him he could tell us who they were and how to find them, but we had no idea where he was. We…we ran out of time.

"Jesus, Sally, I…I'm sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

_/Then./_

There was someone knocking at the front door.

Mycroft could hear them, knew he should get up and answer it, but he couldn't. How could he when he hadn't showered in four days and stank of whiskey and bourbon? How could he face the world without his family?

The knocking increased and there was a voice calling to him from the other side. "Mr. Holmes? Mycroft? It's Sargent Lestrade. Please let me in. Sally's here. She's in the car. She's worried about you. Says you've not been eating. Mycroft?"

Greg.

Of course Sally had enlisted his help. Loyal, stalwart, true Greg Lestrade. He couldn't face them. Couldn't let them see how he was wallowing in his own misery, unable to cope.

It took them twenty minutes to give up and leave.

Pulling himself up from his chair he stumbled down the hall, looking for another drink. He stopped as he passed by the parlor, seeing the piano tucked away in the corner, covered in Lego's and army men. Moving them aside gently and opened the keys, brushing his fingers across them to remove the layers of dust.

Then, slowly, he began to play.


	11. Chapter 11

_/Now./_

"Mycroft lost it," she said. "He completely fell to pieces. He didn't sleep or eat for days, just sat at his piano composing sad music. I thought he was going to kill himself."

"Did he try?"

"I honestly don't know. I was a bit of a mess myself at the time. Greg had to drag me out of bed."

"And Sherlock?"

"Showed up about two weeks later, high as a kite. Completely missed the funeral. Didn't even know they'd died. Mycroft was furious. _I_ was furious. He let us all down and then had the _audacity_…"

_He's just a lunatic and he'll always let you down and you're wasting your time._

Now he understood the meaning behind her words. "How'd he take the news?"

"He overdosed on cocaine," she said bitterly.

"Jesus Christ," John swiped his hands across his face. "This explains so much."

"I suppose it does," Sally said.

"What, um, what was Mycroft doing at the crime scene today? What set the whole thing off?"

A pained smile made its way across Sally's face. "He's sweet on Molly Hooper. Been coming to me and Greg for advice. It was such a simple case I don't think he expected Sherlock to be there and, well, he's Sherlock isn't he? Freakishly intelligent and capable of seeing through everyone."

"Yeah, but why the violence? I mean, what did he _say_?"

"Thing is, John…I don't think he's forgiven himself for what happened to them. I don't think he ever will. He's going to carry their memory with him for the rest of his life, and maybe he should, but I think he doesn't want Mycroft to get over them either. He doesn't want to be the only one sleeping next to ghosts at night."

"So you think he said something about Merry…about her memory…to Mycroft? To what? To hurt him? Put him off Molly?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"God. Right. I have to go. I have to find Sherlock," he tells her as he rises from the table. "I…thank you, Sally. I know we've never really got on, but…thank you."

"Don't thank me, John. Tell Sherlock to let Mycroft get on with his life. Then try to get him to do the same, if you can."


End file.
